


Memories Best Burned

by Anonymous



Series: Best Burned [1]
Category: The Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Genre: (not between main pairing), Angst, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, POV Johnny Marcone, Past Child Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Rescue Missions, wow this got dark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:48:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27517888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Five times John learned something about Justin DuMorne. Heed the warnings.
Relationships: Harry Dresden/Johnny Marcone
Series: Best Burned [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2012236
Comments: 14
Kudos: 114
Collections: anonymous





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for this chapter: implied/referenced torture.  
> Thanks for reading, hope you like it, and I love feedback!

“Damn it, scumbag.” Harry Dresden yanked on his handcuffs again. “I knew this meeting was a bad idea.”

“You owed me a favor,” I pointed out mildly. The term  _ scumbag _ was practically a term of endearment at this point. 

“And now we’re stuck in what looks like a rip-off torture chamber,” Dresden continued. 

“Actually,” I said, “this room looks like a fairly original torture chamber.”

He glared at me. I did not smile with the ease of long practice. 

“Great,” Dresden said, flopping onto the ground with a grace that always startled me. “Just great. I don’t suppose Cujo knows where we are?”

“He’ll find us,” I said, because Nathan Hendricks would always find me. It had been that way since we were seven years old. It would be that way until one of us went where the other couldn’t follow. “It just might take a while.”

“Great,” Dresden repeated. He had opened his mouth to say something else when the door creaked open and he snapped it shut again, for once exhibiting common sense. 

Our captors began with Dresden, as I had expected. One did not capture one of the most powerful wizards in North America and leave him alone, particularly when one’s other captive was a bargaining chip. 

“Tell us about the spirit known as Bob,” they said, over and over. And, over and over, Dresden spat obscenities at them. 

Dresden took a very long time to begin screaming, and even then, he did not beg. It took me slightly longer to dislocate my thumb and slip my handcuffs, and approximately a minute and a half to disable the three men in the room. 

Dresden was barely conscious as I approached the table they had strapped him to. I took a moment to contemplate what my next move should be after cutting through the ropes holding him to the table. I doubted he would welcome me touching him to get him upright, however necessary it may be, and unlocking the thorn manacles of a barely conscious Dresden sounded like a good way to get thrown into a wall. 

Thankfully, he solved the problem by opening his eyes. “John?” he slurred. 

The name took me by surprise. I chose to avoid mentioning it. “Yes, Mr. Dresden?”

“Get me the hell out of these things.” He managed to lift his wrists slightly. 

I obeyed. For a man who made a career out of giving orders, I gave into Harry Dresden far too often. 

Once the thorn manacles were unlocked, Dresden visibly relaxed. He even allowed me to help him into a sitting position. I was glad I had taken the time to search his torturers for the keys.

“Thanks,” he said grudgingly. 

“I believe this is the first time you have ever expressed gratitude to me.”

“You did just save my ass.”

_ And a fine one it is, _ I thought but did not say. “You did well, holding out for so long.”

“Yeah.” Dresden shrugged. “Got practice.”

If he had not been in so much pain, he would not have said that. I took a chance and asked, “How so?”

“Justin taught me,” he mumbled. His eyelids were fluttering. He was going to pass out again. “Best damn teacher I ever had, the bastard.”

And Dresden was out. I lowered him to the floor, took up the knife I’d used to kill three men, and waited for Hendricks. 

Somehow, I didn’t think I would like what I found when I looked into this Justin. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for: rape (not graphic, but discussed and referenced in a few lines); canonical past child abuse.

I did not like what I found. Harry had vanished from the foster care system at the age of ten and gone into Ebenezar McCoy’s care at the age of sixteen. In that time, there were few records, which in and of itself was a red flag.

Good men did not, in my experience, isolate children that thoroughly.

I put aside the subject of Justin DuMorne in favor of the latest reports from my lieutenants. The man did not come up until I received a call three months later.

The number was not in my phone, nor was I expecting it. I answered because such calls are usually life or death.

“Harry’s in trouble,” Michael Carpenter said without preamble.

“Isn’t he always?” Nevertheless, I got to my feet and began to strap on knives. Hendricks raised an eyebrow. I mouthed “Dresden” and he nodded grimly, closing his book.

“Not this bad.” Michael sighed. “Red Court bad. He called, but I’m in Texas. No one’s heard from him in days.”

I paused, then added another few knives. Perhaps I would need the assault rifle after all.

I got a last-known location from Carpenter and headed for my car with as much speed as possible while retaining dignity.

If I could even claim to have dignity while rushing to the rescue of a wizard who called me a scumbag as a term of endearment.

By the time we found him, they were gone-- but they had left Harry. He was curled on the floor, chained to the wall, covered in blood, dirt, and... less savory substances.

My stomach roiled with fury. Sensing my anger, Hendricks ordered the rest of my men to wait outside before stepping up to me.

“He needs a doctor, John,” he said.

“I know,” I gritted out.

“Then let’s get him to one, hmm? And let’s put down the gun.”

I hadn’t even realized I was holding one. I holstered it and went over to Harry. Hendricks shadowed me, but I paid no attention, because Harry-- and somehow this wizard was Harry to me, not Dresden, not now-- flinched at my approach, eyes wild. He muttered something under his breath and then cried out in pain as the handcuffs on his wrists flared.

I was becoming far too familiar with thorn manacles.

“It’s me,” I said, dropping to my knees beside him, uncaring of how the filth on the floor seeped into my suit pants. Hendricks, exhibiting the common sense that had kept him beside me all these years, bent to pick up the keys which had been left just outside Harry’s reach.

Harry blinked. “What? No, you’re-- what? John?”

Hearing my name on his tongue should not have given me the thrill it did. “Yes. It’s all right. I’m here now.”

Harry uncurled just enough for me to see his neck. No bites, thank the God I didn’t believe in. “Get me the hell out of here,” he croaked.

When Hendricks came over to unlock the cuffs, though, Harry recoiled so badly my friend stopped in his tracks.

“Give them to me,” I said, calm with anger beyond description. Hendricks tossed the keys to me and backed up.

I unlocked the thorn manacles. This time, it didn’t seem to have the same invigorating effect-- Harry remained curled on the ground.

We hadn’t thought to bring the duster he wore like armor. I hadn’t expected him to be…

Well. It didn’t matter, did it?

I snapped my fingers at Hendricks, who obligingly handed me his suit jacket. Harry looked up at me dazedly, pupils still far too wide. I had pictured him bared to me with blown pupils before, but not like this. Never like this.

“Let’s get you the hell out of here,” I said, and I wrapped Hendricks’ jacket over his shoulders before getting him to his feet.

I paced back and forth outside the bedroom Dr. Forest was treating Harry in for at least half an hour before Forest emerged.

“He’ll be fine,” the doctor said, forestalling my questions. “A human probably wouldn’t have survived, but Mr. Dresden will recover.”

“Did they.” I paused.

“Rape him?” Forest asked. “Yes. They appear to have tortured him extensively as well.”

I closed my eyes, affording myself just one moment of weakness. Then I opened them and snapped my walls back into place.

“Thank you,” I said. “Mr. Hendricks will deal with your fees.”

He nodded, taking it as the dismissal it was. I waited until he was gone and my breathing was under control to enter the bedroom.

Harry was curled on top of the covers. This time he was clothed, though, and clean. He rolled his head to look at me but said nothing.

I sat in the chair beside the bed and matched his silence. It was perhaps ten minutes later when Harry said, “Guess I owe you another favor.”

“Consider this one on the house,” I said. “They had been taking children.”

He nodded slowly. “That’s how they got me.”

I nodded in return. Harry exhaled, long and slow, then said, “Stop looking into my past.”

The apparent non-sequitur did not take me by surprise, because nothing did. I did, however, pause a beat. “Pardon?”

“Eb doesn’t like people poking around him,” Harry said. “He’s like the Hulk. Don’t make him angry.”

If Harry had the strength to make bad pop culture references, he would be fine.

“Tell me about Justin yourself, then,” I said.

His gaze was even, even if the painkillers made it hazy. “You get one question. Payback for the rescue.”

One question. I thought for a moment. “You said he was the best teacher you ever had. What did you mean?”

Harry’s eyes drifted away from mine. “He taught me to shield by throwing baseballs. I’m tired.”

I took the hint and stood. Before I left the room, against my better instincts, I said, “I’m glad we got you back.”

He was already asleep.

I walked to my office and began outlining my war against the Red Court for sooner than I had planned.

And if the name Justin DuMorne burned in the back of my mind, if I pictured a young, scrawny boy covered in round bruises--

Well. That was my business.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: nothing outside of canonical events.

Harry, naturally, refused to stay in my home once he was mobile again. I considered trying to force him, but, remembering how high my insurance premiums already were, settled for driving him back to his apartment.

He wasn’t moving as well as I would have liked, but he walked to the limo without stumbling, which I supposed would have to be good enough. 

Hendricks drove. Harry and I sat in silence for most of the drive. About three quarters of the way there, Harry said, apropos of nothing, “I killed him, you know. Justin. Burned him alive.”

I had guessed as much-- a fire with no evidence of having been lit? It had sounded like Harry’s rather distinctive signature. Still, it was good to have confirmation. 

I said, “I’m glad.”

Harry looked taken aback. 

“I have no mercy for people who harm children,” I said. “If you believed he needed to die, he needed to die.”

Harry looked away, swallowing. I suspected no one had ever told him that before. 

When Hendricks opened the limo door, Harry paused before getting out of the vehicle. 

“Thanks,” he said, grudgingly. “I, uh-- you didn’t have to. So thank you.”

“Pay me back with dinner,” I suggested, hoping against hope that this time he’d say yes.

“I just told you I murdered a man, and you’re asking me out?” It wasn’t a no.

“Killed, Harry. You killed a man. It’s not murder if it’s necessary. And yes. I happen to know a fantastic pizza place.”

He thought about it. Hendricks gave up on waiting for Harry to exit and went back to the driver’s seat. 

“All right,” Harry said at last. “If there’s pizza.”

“I’ll see you on Friday. Eight pm.”

Harry grunted an acknowledgement and slid out of the limo, his hands white around his staff as he used it to get to his feet. 

I did not offer to help. Harry would not have appreciated it. 

“So,” Hendricks said as we exited my office’s elevator. “Dresden, huh?”

“Unfortunately.”

He nodded, and that was that. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No new warnings. Next chapter should be a little longer.

Two months later found me once more receiving a call on Harry Dresden’s behalf. This time it was from an establishment known as MacAnally’s.

“This is John Marcone.”

“Mac,” the man on the other end of the phone said. “Come get Dresden.”

He hung up. 

My initial thought was that I was being threatened. A quick internet search revealed that MacAnally’s was a bar, and therefore that-- most likely-- Harry was in trouble of a more mundane kind. 

I sighed. Hendricks looked up from  _ Crime and Punishment _ . 

“Dresden?”

“Dresden,” I confirmed. 

He echoed my sigh and went over to the safe containing the assault rifles. 

“I do not believe those will be necessary this time,” I informed him as he began to pull one of the weapons out, repressing my amusement. “That was the owner of a bar.”

Hendricks paused, then put the assault rifle back. 

MacAnally’s was the kind of bar which, if pressed, I would have pictured Harry Dresden in. Small, dimly lit, and clearly magical. 

My wizard was slumped in a corner, not drinking but staring blankly at the table in front of him. I approached with caution. Even after two months of… whatever we were doing, and however many years of knowing each other before that, Harry Dresden was still an unknown quantity to me. 

Harry barely looked up as I took a seat across the table. “Hey, John.”

“Hello, Harry.” Even under the circumstances, I savored the fact that I was allowed to use his name without receiving a snarled  _ scumbag _ in response. “Need a ride?”

He just shrugged, which made the alarm bells already ringing in my mind even louder. 

“Let’s get you home,” I murmured. 

It took Harry five minutes to realize we weren’t going to his apartment. He looked at me hard, but then his eyes slid away and he leaned his head against the window. 

I did not press him. Yet. 

When we were settled at my kitchen table, I asked, “What happened?”

Harry’s lips pressed together. “Warden business.”

“Elaborate.”

Some of that lovely anger flared in his eyes. It was instinctual, I believed, whenever someone gave him an order. It relieved me to see the roiling flames. “Make me.”

“You know I wouldn’t.”

He sighed and slumped once more. “Yeah. Yeah, guess I do.”

I waited. It was a delicate balance to walk, with Harry-- I had to push just hard enough. 

“They killed three people this time,” he said. “Two of them abducted the other one when she was seventeen, made her kill people.”

I buried the fury in my chest. The White Council’s time would come soon enough. Right now I needed to focus on Harry. “And you witnessed their execution.”

Harry nodded once. 

“I see.”

I said nothing else. 

Harry curled up against me in my bed that night. Just as I was falling asleep, content with the heat Harry threw off like the fire he was so fond of, he said, “It could have been me.”

I did not sit up because I did not wish to disturb him. However, I was completely awake in a heartbeat. 

“What do you mean?”

“Justin-- Justin could have made me into that. Into something like them.”

“No,” I said. “No. Never. You would never allow that.”

Harry shrugged and was silent. 

I filed away the piece of information I had just been given and wished, for neither the first or last time, that Justin DuMorne had died slower. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: sex (I don't think it's quite enough to be rated E, but it's there); past rape of a minor, which is referenced and discussed.  
> This is the beginning of a series-- subscribe if you want to read about Hendricks walking in on his boss with Harry multiple times, Harry and John negotiating Harry's boundaries despite Harry refusing to acknowledge he has them, Harry's POV on the Red Court kidnapping, etc.  
> Thanks for reading, hope you like it, and I love hearing from y'all.

I slid my tongue across the slit of Harry’s cock and smiled at the strangled _John_ it earned me. 

We’d had quite a few mishaps doing this, before tonight-- including one memorable instance of Hendricks kicking the door down with a drawn gun-- but this was going well. 

I pulled off, ignoring Harry’s whine of protest, and said, “Remember, if I do anything you don’t like--”

“I’ll throw you into a wall,” he interrupted. “Maybe through it. Now hurry up and _fuck me_ already, or I’ll take care of it myself.”

I pretended to consider the option. Harry swatted my arm. I allowed myself a grin and uncapped the lube, coating my fingers with it. I kissed Harry as I slipped one finger inside of him.

He went completely rigid. I paused. “Harry?” He wasn’t throwing me into a wall, but this stillness didn’t seem like a good thing.

“Wait,” he said breathlessly. I pulled my finger out of Harry immediately, cursing myself for a fool-- after the Red Court, how could I have been so stupid--

Harry was still speaking. “No-- no, Justin, I don’t--”

The implications slammed into me with the force of a bullet, leaving me shaken and nauseous. I swallowed bile, moved so that I was no longer touching Harry, and said, as gently as a man like me could, “It’s John, Harry. Justin’s dead. You’re in my home. You’re safe. No one will touch you, I swear. It’s John. Justin’s dead.”

Harry blinked once, twice. I could see the moment when the words sunk in, could see when his terrified eyes went from confused to ashamed.

“John?” he asked. 

“Yes.”

Harry rolled over and vomited onto the carpet. I hesitated with my hand above his back, not sure if I should touch at this moment. 

“Don’t,” Harry choked out, a warning pulse of force pushing against my hand, and I lowered my hand back to my lap. I didn’t trust myself to touch him in this moment, regardless. Not with the fury surging through me, making my hands shake and my head race with thoughts of raising the dead. 

I sat perfectly still and waited for Harry to ask something, _anything,_ of me.

When Harry had finished throwing up, he sat up, wiped his mouth on his arm, and buried his face in his hands. 

“It’s not what you think,” he said, muffled, at the same time that I said, “Justin DuMorne raped you.”

He flinched and I cursed myself. 

“It wasn’t--” Harry cut himself off, shrugged. 

“It was, Harry,” I said, knowing full well what he had been going to say. 

“I got off on it.”

“Biological reactions mean nothing. It was rape.”

He shrugged again. I studied the faded scars on his back and wondered how I had not seen this before. 

I had attributed so much to the Red Court. Perhaps one pathetic excuse for a man had had more of an effect in harming Harry than I had ever dreamed.

“He said.” Harry started, stopped, started again. “He said it was for my own good. That it would make me more powerful.”

“Like the baseballs?” My voice did not shake.

“Yeah.” Harry laughed. The sound was harsh and bitter. “Yeah, exactly like that.”

I ached with the urge to comfort Harry. My throat burned with the urge to demand answers. I kept my hands where they were and did not ask what I wanted to: _how many times, how old were you, how--_

“I would kill him for you,” I said, instead, “if you had not killed him first.”

“It’s not--”

“If you were going to tell me it’s not a big deal, I would have to disagree with you, Harry.”

He took his hands from his face and glared at me, making eye contact of his own volition for once. “Figured you already knew you were getting someone’s sloppy seconds, after the Red Court.”

The words are meant to sting, and they do. I said, “You know damn well that’s not what I meant.”

Harry looked away. Without acknowledging my words, he asked, “Can we-- can we just go to bed? Can we just not talk about it and go to bed?”

There was vomit on the carpet. There were clothes strewn everywhere. I was burning with an anger so bright it could have rivaled Michael Carpenter’s Sword. 

The only answer I could give was, “Of course, Harry.”

Sleep did not come easily for either of us that night. But when Harry reached for my hand in the dark, the pressure in my chest eased slightly. 

The man beside me had survived. The man who had harmed him was dead. 

All I could do now was lo-- _care for him_. 

I slipped into sleep with that knowledge, and I dreamed of flames. 


End file.
